Short story: Turning the Key

Photo of women by Vitalya Gorbachev at Pexels

Scarlett Fletcher explores the transformative journey of adulthood and self-discovery

Growing up feels like holding an old, ornate key in your hand, one you’ve carried since childhood but never dared to use. For years, it hung around your neck, a quiet talisman you weren’t sure you wanted or needed. It glinted in the sunlight of your carefree moments, a harmless accessory, unaware of its concealed potential for change or even corruption. It was an amulet of duality, Janus-faced and arcane that’s purpose terrified its keeper.

But now, in your late teens, you find yourself standing before a door that has always been there, waiting. The door isn’t what you expected. It’s rough, scarred by time and secrets, as if countless others have turned this key before you. Its handle is cold, unyielding, and when you press your ear against it, you hear faint echoes of a world you’ve never known but somehow always feared. You think about staying on this side forever, where the air is familiar, where safety hums in the rhythm of your old routines. But the key feels heavier now, like it’s pulling at you, whispering, “It’s time.”

The magnetic allure the key has with the door is uncontrollable. Struggling to hold it, you gaze down at this paradoxical totem with wonder. You begin to notice the intricacies of jagged edges. Just like the story you wait to be unveiled through the unlocking of this door, each serrated edge representing the similar enigma that those before you faced when in your same position. The ups and downs life confronts you with, all represented by the mismatched teeth, firmly held together, glued by the history this key holds.

But you hesitate. Equivocation seems irrational, as how can you fear something that you cannot prevent? Something inevitable, something fated. You are taught to accept these moments within the assembly line of existence, and mindlessly unlock the door to the next workstation.

So maybe it’s a good thing you question it. Maybe it shows your growth from an impulsive, careless child, into a proactive adult holding autonomy. Yet that child that still lives inside of you, eagerly dreams of what waits behind that barrier, pleading with you to turn the lock and unleash the hounds of opportunity and uncertainty that this door had been encaging.

That once happy-go-lucky careless child that begged you to open that door, falls silent

When you finally turn the key, the sound is less like a click and more like a quiet rupture – a splitting open of everything you thought you knew. The door swings wide, revealing a landscape that’s nothing like the one you’ve left behind. It’s vast and wild, full of craggy peaks and shadowy valleys. Its terrain, a pure reflection of the inner challenge you must face with the acceptance of what must come.

Some parts sparkle in the light, inviting you to run toward them. Others loom with an ache you can’t quite name. Caves of dark enticement, filled with the possibilities of the unknown; they hold both excitement and anxiety, save fear for the end of this.

But the irony of it all, though so filled with challenge and excitement from its natural wonders that draw you closer, it’s oh so empty. A lingering feeling of isolation overwhelms you, and that once happy-go-lucky careless child that begged you to open that door, falls silent, agape with a blend of wonder and fear.

At first, you stumble into this new place, the key still clutched tightly in your hand. You wonder if you’re allowed to feel scared, or if you should already know how to navigate this sprawling scenery. But no map exists for this world, only a compass stitched into your chest, spinning madly as you try to follow it. A compass enshrined in the purpose to guide, whether its direction makes sense immediately, or whether the path ahead is filled with the perforated riddles and brain-teasers that come alongside such navigations.

The adult, unobtrusively growing inside of you, soothes these juvenile anxieties by reminding you that growing isn’t always about having all the answers, neither is it about reaching a destination. It’s about learning to walk through this door again and again.

Every step teaches you how to trust your footing, even when the ground feels like it might give way. You won’t always know where you’re going, but as you press forward, you realise the key was never meant to open just one door – it was meant to help you find your way through an endless series of them. And while these doors and their unpredictability scare you, it is these moments of change that define who you are, and for that, gratitude is imperative.

And maybe, that’s the point.